


Look What the Tide Dragged in

by Lizardlicks



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Xeno, trolls as merfolk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardlicks/pseuds/Lizardlicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is just no fucking way what you’re seeing could be real, but if it’s fake that is one professional makeup department.  It’s a god damned mermaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look What the Tide Dragged in

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Ushauz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ushauz)

The afternoon sun is starting to crawl back down the other side of the sky, but it won’t set for another four or five hours at least, not during late summer break in the northern hemisphere.  One thing is for certain, the breeze coming off the California coastline is a hell of a lot more pleasant than the sweltering Houston heat you’re used to.  It’s a great break, even if you’ll crisp too fast to really get out from under this umbrella and enjoy the water.  

 

It wasn’t exactly a perfect beach day.  The morning started off overcast and drizzly because of course your first and possibly only visit to this state would come with a guarantee of having the lousiest weather out of the whole season.  But between that and the fact that most places have already resumed regular school and work schedules for the fall, the place was pretty well near abandoned, and you have a quiet spot all to yourselves.  At some point the sun broke cover, and even though there’s still clouds drifting across the sky it feels pleasant.

 

At least everyone else is having fun.  John seemed really bummed when you only went for a short dip then retreated back to your shady shelter, but he understands.  Skin like yours will fry like bacon if not too careful.  Even clouds aren’t a good refuge; they’re more likely to lull you into a false sense of security and make you forget your sunblock.  He grinned like a big doofus with those (wow, really cute) big teeth of his and needled you for living in Texas of all places being as you were the next closest thing to an albino without actually being one and all the fuckery that comes with it.

 

“Haha yeah great idea, go live in the sunshine state!”

 

“Florida is the sunshine state dummy. Texas is the lone star,” Jade had corrected him helpfully.  

 

“Yeah,” you had drawled, “And we have these things you might have heard of in suburban north west: venetian blinds and AC.”

 

“Pffft” he’d scoffed, then dumped the bucket of ocean water he’d apparently been hiding behind his back over your head and ran away hooting, the utter asshole.  By now you had mostly dried off, and you were getting a bit antsy just sitting in the sand with nothing to do but watch Egbert and Harley derp around in the surf, trying to stick seaweed and other unpleasantness down each others swimsuits.  Rose had been an interesting conversation partner, but she had fallen asleep about fifteen minutes ago with her book over her face, snoring softly and drooling.  You’d already snapped a few phone pics for blackmail later, but there wasn’t much else to do.  You decide that maybe a stroll down the beach might be a good idea.

 

Plucking your ironic beach umbrella with the cartoon seagulls and giant smiling sun out of the sand, you move up the dunes to where the adults have situated themselves around a convenient picnic table.  When you tell your bro you’re going to walk down the shore line and do some shell hunting he waves you off with a nod and says, “Cool, little man, bring me back something awesome.”

 

You don’t think he’s really paying much attention.  There’s a bunch of empties piled up together, and while he’s definitely not as sloshed as mom Lalonde, you can tell by the way he leans his shoulder into Dadbert’s that he’s had a couple more drinks than usual.  You don’t really want to watch your bro try and pick up your best friend’s dad, so you abscond as soon as you get the approval.

 

* * *

 

 

There sure is an interesting assortment of junk scattered around the high tide line.  In addition to what you would expect the sea to spit out, you sometimes spot the forgotten refuse of human activity long abandoned in the sand.  Hell that even looks like an ipod half buried over there.  Probably ruined by now.  There really isn’t anything of value to take back with you, but you weren’t actually expecting to find much anyway, you just wanted to stretch your legs.

 

You’re starting to think about turning around and heading back to your friends.  The sun is getting low enough to make the light coming off the water dazzling even through your shades, and you should probably wrap it up and call it a day.  You’ve all been looking forward to hanging out together with your friends for sometime, and while the beach wasn’t really your idea of a fun activity, you couldn’t let mister adorkable down.  

 

Okay, you really need to stop thinking about how cute your best bro is, you are starting to get some serious dokis and this could turn awkward fast.  

 

The convention starts tomorrow and that’s all John has been able to talk about since you met in meat space anyway.  Tonight it will be retreating back to your hotel rooms, ordering take out and mashing each other in the face with video games, and then the next three days will be a crazy swirl of meets, cosplays, panels, shopping and who knows what else.

 

You’re just about to give in to the little voice nagging you to start heading back but there’s a great slab of rock sticking up out of the sand, and you want to see what’s on the other side just for curiosity’s sake before you do, so you settle the umbrella’s pole against your shoulder and clamor up the side.  There’s a neat little tide pool just over the rise and something silver glinting in the water; an abandoned surf board maybe?  It’s long and flatish, and throws back the light at you in patterns. You want a closer look.

 

You have to put your back to the tide pool and use your free hand to get down the other side.  Half way down you see whatever it is _move_ out of the corner of your eye.  It startles you so bad you almost let go of the rock and butt plant.  That wasn’t the rocking you’d expect from an inanimate object moving with the wind or waves, it was totally independent of those things, a ripple of living flesh.  Carefully this time, but more rushed, you pick your way down to the bottom and turn to face the pool again for a better look.

 

There is... that’s not even possible.  John has really maxed out his prankster’s gambit this time, because that’s not possible, but who the hell did he know in California that he could set this up with and how could he have planned on you getting bored and wandering down the beach-  There is just no fucking way what you’re seeing could be real, but if it’s fake that is one professional makeup department.

 

It’s a god damned mermaid.  Scratch that, merdude?  Actually it looks nothing like the usual fantasy creature you’ve seen.  For one thing it’s not a human body stapled to a fish tail, it actually looks like one solid creature.  Uniform gray and silver scales all over, and where the sun hits right it throws off an iridescent purple sheen.  Its fingers are long and webbed, almost too long, enough to be freaky.  More alien still is the face, having only vertical nostril slits were you would expect a nose to be, the eyes are dark solid voids like a shark and bright purple fins that stick out from behind its jaw instead of ears.  There’s a pair of zig zaggy horn looking things sticking out of its head too.  

 

It hasn’t noticed you yet, mostly because it seems preoccupied with trying to cut away a tangle of netting wrapped around its tail with a mouthful of piranha teeth.  Boy that does not look comfortable.  That net has been there for a few days at least; it’s started to cut into the creature’s scales and fins just from how tightly wound it is, and swelling has made it worse.  As you watch the sea creature bites into its own skin trying to break free and you wince.  You have to stop it before it makes things worse.

 

“Hey-” You’re interruption is greeted with a startled jerk and a hiss.  Holy shit, those teeth are ten times as scary turned in your direction and that sound is unreal.  You have never heard anything rattle like that before, what is its vocal chords even made of?  Belatedly it occurs to you that this thing could only be just shy of wild animal.  It looks sort of human in the torso but that doesn’t mean it can communicate.  You’re going to have to try  anyway because now it’s seen you and it’s not happy.

 

“Easy, dude,” you try to soothe.  You hold your free hand up, palm facing it in what you hope is the universal code for ‘ _don’t kill me, I’m nice_ ’ and start slowly inching forward.  “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

 

“A course not!” His high, gurgling voice takes you by surprise.  So he can understand you and speaks English, even if it sounds weirdly accented.  As you approach he tries to retreat, wriggling away ungracefully; the water is too shallow for him to use for proper swimming and trapping him away from the ocean.  You cringe again when his tail flops uselessly, retrained by the net as it catches in the rocks and pulls.

 

“You’re just gonna put me in a glass box and have all yer friends take a gawk.  Maybe make some currency by sellin’ me to some a the other monkeys.  How stupid do you think I am?” he spits.

 

“Pretty damn.  I want to help you, not market you.”  He’s nearly panicked.  You need to get him to calm down before he hurts either of you.

 

“Oh, fair an’ certain,” he bubbles sarcastically, then coughs, a slimy sound that makes your lungs ache in sympathy.  You have no idea how long he’s been stranded like this or what his body was made to withstand.  How much longer can he take it?  Another step forward and he flares out his facial fins and screes like a damn velociraptor.  “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me, you squashy, pink monkey spawn!”  

 

You don’t have the time for this and neither does he.  “Look, here are your choices.  I turn around and leave, and either your flippers rot off and you die of gangrene or something, or some other not so nice human that does want an interesting aquarium pet comes along.  Or, you can stop being an ass and let me get that net off.”

 

He tries to meet your eyes, but your shades defeat any attempt at a staredown.  You just stay passive, try to look relaxed despite your heart rate riding a missile into low orbit.  After a long, pensive moment, he doesn’t drop the defensive posture, but he does stop hissing at you.  His head dips in submission despite the still tight lines of his body and flared fins, and you close the gap.

 

“Sup.  I’m Dave.  You got a name I can pronounce?”

 

“I don’t know, how much brain damage did you get as a wiggler?” he snips, then winces and drops his eyes again.  “Eridan.  My name is Eridan.”

 

“Cool.”  You chose to ignore his needling.  You’ve got a feeling being rude is just a thing he does, like Rose is creepy, John is a dork and Jade is... Jade.  Instead, you take a seat in the sand and try to assess his condition from a closer angle.

 

The first thing that stands out is how dry his scales are.  The tide pool is too shallow for him to fully submerge only allowing one side to be soaked at a time, and this one is in need of water.  His gill flap things don’t look that great either; the edges are flaking.  His lower body is in the worst shape.  The netting is a confused mess of knots too interlaced to undo by hand, but Eridan’s attempts at removing it with the only sharp things on hand did more harm than good.  Some of the line itself has started to cut into him too.  One tail fin is nearly tatters, oozing bright purple and staining the water around him lavender.  It looks so god awful you don’t know how he’s masking the pain.  You need a knife.  Quick.

 

“Okay, Eridan?  I need to go get something to help me cut this, but I’m going to come right back.  Here.”  You take your stupid beach umbrella and plant it between him and the sun, hoping to slow some damage, then start rising and brushing off the sand sticking to your ass.  One of his webby hands curls around your forearm and for all that it looks delicate the fingers are surprisingly strong.

 

“Don’t tell anyone, please,” he begs you softly.

 

“I won’t,” you promise.  You hadn’t really been thinking about it anyway, but he changes when you answer, all the nervous energy slipping out of him.  His fingers go limp and he nearly melts into the water.  It was fear that kept him hiding how bad it was, all terrified posturing.  You can’t find anyone else to help now, knowing how scared just trusting you made him, even if bro would be useful or one of your friends comforting.

 

“Hang on, man,” you tell him, “don’t give up, just hang on.”

 

“Hurry,” he gurgles, wet and helpless, and a knot twists into your chest.  You start back up the side of the rock as fast as your legs can take you.

 

* * *

 

You have never flashed stepped so hard or fast in your life.  Every short cut to the top of another dune without sinking into the soft sand buys you a few more seconds.  By the time you get back to your beach site you’re a little winded but urgency drives you to keep moving.  

 

You carefully avoid catching sight of your friends or the adults, going straight to the top of the hill instead and aiming for the parking lot.  If Bro isn’t packing something sharp in the truck, you will eat his hat.

 

Turns out there are a lot of sharp things, but it takes you a couple minutes searching to find one that’s useful.  The daisho set under the seat is too large and unwieldy to be effective; you’d probably end up doing a fantastic butcher job.  There’s throwing stars tucked into the sunglass strap of the sun visor and you note them as an option, but the angle of the blades might make it a pain to use without cutting yourself in the process.  In the glove box, under a travel sized smuppet and an old mug that says “Worlds Best Grandpa” you find what you’re looking for: a set of kunai knives.  They’re dumb prop weapons, but they’re small, easy to handle and best of all the edges are sharpened.

 

In the back seat there’s spare towels too, and you grab a couple of those before heading back.  You shut the door, look around to make sure no one spotted you, then beeline back to the tide pool.  

 

Eridan doesn’t look like he’s moved the entire time you’ve been gone, and for one lip-biting moment your heart is in the vicinity of your shoes, but as you approach he stirs at the sound of your footsteps, lifting his head then flopping it tiredly back to the water.  The water level looks lower and even though you can see the tide creeping back up the shore you don’t think it will be quick enough.  Instead you veer your path to the ocean’s edge first and drop one of the towels in, letting it soak up as much brine as it can hold.  When you bring it over to Eridan you spread it out over him, and he sighs for the relief.

 

“You came back.”  He sounds absolutely mystified.  You can’t help cocking a tiny smirk at him.

 

“You doubt the word of a Strider, for shame.  Didn’t you know we’re magically bound by the laws of nature to up hold any oath spoken aloud?”

 

“What, really?”  His black eyes blink up at you- whoa, nictitating membrane, that’s cool.  You almost break your calm with laughter.

 

“No, but I don’t need some voodoo mind trick to keep a promise I make.  Now hold still.”

 

He sighs a huff, but otherwise complies with the request so you pull out your borrowed blade and start carefully trimming away excess line so you can see where it’s ensnared him.  “I knew that.  Magic is fake as shit- ow!”

 

“Sorry, I’m trying not to pull.  So the fish guy is telling me magic isn’t real, huh?”  You steal a glance at his face while trying not to lose focus on your work and he’s- haha that is a full on pout.  You were not expecting him to be so expressive.  Seems like he’s traded aggressive for sulky, and you aren’t sure if that’s a good indicator, but at least it makes the job easier.

 

“A course it ain’t!  Just some dumb ass notion your human ancestors made up when they were too stupid to figure out a real explanation.”

 

“Sure.  And the reason we don’t find cities of sentient aquatic beings is because?”

 

“We’re crafty as fuck,” he sniffs.  Then his fins droop.  He might as well have semaphore flags on the sides of his head for how loudly he broadcasts his mood shifts.   “An’... there ain’t many of us left.  Most a my kin have gone to the deep places.”

 

You don’t frown, at least not enough that he can see.  “Why didn’t you go with them?” you ask.  Honestly, between the injuries he’s suffered and the crap polluting the water, you can’t see a reason anything would want to stay up here given a choice.  He shrugs, another bizarrely human motion.

 

“Cold, dark, an’ shit ends up there anyway.  Might as well be somewhere I can see somethin’.”

 

“Sounds lonely, though.”

 

“Yeah,” he sighs, “It kinda is.”  You both lapse into silence after that.  You need to concentrate on cutting the net without turning him into sushi, and he seems to have run out of energy for small talk.  

 

The progress goes quickly once you get a feel for the knife in your hand and the material its going through, but even with every caution sometimes the net is wound too tight, and you can’t avoid cutting skin.  By the time you can pick the rest of it off with your fingers they’re slick with violet blood and flecked off scales.

 

Eridan remains stubbornly stoic through it, though you can feel the flinch and twitch of muscle when you knick too deep.  His freed tail is a hatchwork of cuts, and the delicate fins look chewed on from the sharp rocks.  All you can think of is infection settling in and doing slowly what you were trying to stop in the first place.  He should have time in a medicated tank or stitches or something, but he would refuse to be carted off even for his own good, and you just don’t know what else you can do.  You stow the knife in a back pocket and try to wipe away the blood.

 

“It’s done but it’s not pretty,” you tell him.  He pushes up onto his hand-fins and looks over the mess.  “I, uh, I have no idea how to treat wounds for the water so if you have any ideas...”

 

“It’ll will work fine,” he says.  He curls his tail, grunts at the pain but does it again to show that it’s working, the cuts aren’t too deep.  “I have a friend that’s a good touch with a healin’ hand.  She’ll take care of it.  Just help me get to the water.”

 

“Okay,” you answer and move to get your arms under him.  His go around your neck, his face resting on your shoulder as you cradle him under his back and tail.  You can feel the coldness of his breath on your throat, reminding you of the hidden shark teeth tucked behind human looking lips, but you can’t find it in you to feel fear.  It takes you a moment to judge his weight and your balance before you can lift him; he’s almost solid muscle and heavy without the water’s support.

 

Walking to the water line is a faster trip now that the tide is coming in.  The first surge of waves almost takes you off your feet but you regain your footing and press forward.  The ocean swallows first your knees, and then your thighs, your waist- when the water reaches just under your chest you relax and let it take Eridan’s weight form you, but he doesn’t immediately let go.

 

“Dave...” he starts, rolls your name over his tongue like a ripple.

 

“We’re cool.  Just stay out of fishing lanes, okay?”

 

“No that’s not-” his face scrunches and he shakes his head, remarking about stupid land dwellers under his breath.  “I won’t forget what you did.”  Then he surges up you, pulling you down to the water or himself up you can’t quite tell.

 

His mouth is on yours.  You can feel his teeth, a hint of hard points kept conscientiously in check, and when you breathe a startled sigh his tongue flicks over your lips, rough but not unpleasant. Then he flicks his tail and is gone.

 

You stand there in the surf like an idiot for what must be a good ten seconds before you can kick-start your brain and head back to shore.  It takes another few minutes of gathering all the shit you brought with you for this giddy feeling to sink in, and you crack a smile despite yourself.  Saved the day and got your first kiss from a mermaid, way to go Dave Strider.

 

You only get about halfway back to the beach site before your friends come running down the surf to meet you, apparently having gotten worried and come looking when you took so long getting back.  

 

“Oh wow, Dave, you are a total lobster!” John greets you

 

“Thanks, John, I hadn’t noticed.”  Actually, you hadn’t.  But you sure do now.  Ow.  

 

He points to the bundled up net under your arm and asks “What’s up with that?”

 

“Found a poor little fishy all tangled up in it.  Figured I’d do my duty to mother nature and help out.”

 

“Oh Dave, what a hero!” Jade exclaims dramatically and mock swoons against you hard enough to make you stagger.  

 

“C’mon, Harley,” you grunt, “Knock it off.  You weigh a ton.”

 

“Do not!” she objects and kicks you in the ankle.  Ouch, okay you deserved that one.  Then she changes the subject and asks, “Didja find anything else to bring back?”

 

“Yeah, there was cool stuff, but nothing I could take with me.”

 

“That’s the thing about the lightless depths,” Rose chimes from beside her, “you never know what they might gift you with.”

 

“Yep,” you agree, the memory of Eridan’s mouth still stamped over yours.  You really never know.

 


End file.
